It’s the middle of the summer and a requisite panic has begun to settle as I consider moving back to Tucson, the impossible-seeming completion of two MFAs and getting organized for my upcoming illustration class. Yesterday, a quote was brought to my attention:

A student who stops learning was never a student at all.

Which made me think of Bruce Mau’s Manifesto, which every human on the planet should read, and then my students…and then the idea that we are all students of something. A regular topic of discussion in my classes is what on earth the students will do with what seems like a useless degree: art. My response is that it doesn’t matter what field you go into, the characteristics of success are the same across industries and our collective role as teachers is to offer insights into these qualities. So, students, a term we’ll use generously, here is how I recommend we enter into the forthcoming year.

1. Abandon what you know.
One of the most beautiful books I’ve ever read was the Sound and the Fury (Faulkner); it’s also one of the most complex. Knowing the reputation of the book, before I began reading I said to myself, “I don’t know what a book is.” This perspective allowed me to abandon assumptions about narrative and plot, and enter into the space Faulkner carved. I like this. If we can go into every project as though nothing has come before, our results would be so much more interesting, wild and unique. Just think: the opportunity for redefinition is always nearby.

2. Ask questions.
Questions are a way of articulating curiosity. Last semester, I had a few students email me lists of questions about their portfolios, career paths, art in general, blogs, etc. Literally lists. One email contained about ten questions. This is excellent. Presumably, teachers (mentors, bosses) have more experience than you in your industry. Thus, they are wellsprings of information; use them this way. (Young teachers, ahem, as I previously noted, have a particular advantage because we’ve so recently experienced the path that our students are on; our explorations, good and bad, are totally relevant.)

3. Usurp a mentor.
As increasingly expressed in various publications, every successful human needs the support of a community. The best way to gain access to a community is through a respected insider. This person will be able to:

• + Point out opportunities for you
• + Introduce you to like-minded thinkers (through books or in person)
• + Ask the right questions
• + Validate (or help you abandon) your ideas

Different mentors help your growth for different things. I have about four. Lynn Bloom, a nonfiction writer, was my undergraduate writing professor who I still consult with life/work questions (and for home-made lunches). Writer/teacher/Doritos-lover Ander Monson is my thesis advisor and I go to him to improve my writing and thinking and for questions about beer. Philip Zimmermann knows everything a human can know about books, though he’ll deny it. And Ellen McMahon improves my thinking by asking often uncomfortable questions and suggesting books that force reconsiderations of my belief system. Find teachers who will support you and choose to work with them.

4. Make it work.*
There are a few students each semester who respond to assignments with, That’s just not my style or I’ve already done this or This is boring. My first response is: I don’t care. The larger concern, though, is that they make the assignment work for them. There are always going to be “boring” projects and anything can be made to seem boring. The problem isn’t about the project; it’s about perspective. In my classes, the best students use the assignment sheet as a point of departure for their ideas. Rules can be broken as long as decisions are logically arrived at and the final result functions appropriately.

*My brother just informed me that the term, Make it work, is now associated with Bravo’s Project Runway and Tim Gunn. Whatever.

5. Talk.
I repeat myself. But, by actually talking about what it is we’re doing/making/thinking, we are able to better articulate our ideas. This is one of the reasons I love teaching so much; in order for me to be a good teacher (which is up for debate via my evaluations), I need to clearly state concepts and assignments in order to facilitate productive discussions. For students, these discussions (critiques, conversations, workshops) are opportunities to air out or wax eloquent about ideas.

The second step in speaking well is interaction. When I worked on the business development team at Next Jump, I spent hours (days, weeks) figuring out not only how to pitch new products, but also how to answer clients’ questions. The key to closing deals is in the Q&A; a sales person needs to know the product (idea, position, context) in order to field unforeseen questions and comments. This is why I’ll have two defenses at the closing of my theses. Basically, clients (like my teachers) want to be reassured that we know what we’re talking about. They want security, comfort and satisfaction. It might sound strange to mingle sales with art-speak, but the larger point is that the ideas are intertwined.

6. Read.
No ifs, ands, or buts. Just do it.

7. Build something.

The process of translating an idea from electricites in the mind to physical, hold-able form is perpetually transformative. An idea changes as it is made (which is why process is so critical) and our minds require different functions to actually make something. Aside from this, we are able to iron out kinks by developing prototypes. For instance, when I began illustrating and designing a recent book project, without a physical mock-up, the alignment, structure of the pages and binding would have failed. Same with the way extracting an essay out of an idea changes everything. Whenever you have an idea, just make it and see what happens; ideas need to be created in order to be released from the mind.

8. Be resourceful.
This is perhaps the most critical characteristic a student can hope to achieve. Every project in every industry involves obstacles and interactions between Points A and B. Our jobs as students is to figure out the path. A regular issue among creatives is finding a decent printer (hint: NOT Kinkos). Many of my students complain that they can’t print their projects because they don’t know a printer, or better yet, how to create a proper file. While part of this probably isn’t their fault, it’s also a signal that the project wasn’t enough of a priority to figure it out. In this example, plan ahead and ask for help; ask a friend to show you how to create a file, which printer they used, what paper type, etc. When something is important to us, we make it happen.

9. Redefine failure.
The word fail is derived from 13th century French, fallir, which can be defined as “to miss” or “not succeed.” What, then, are our indicators of success? Often, we think in financial terms or in terms of how others perceive us and our work. While these are valid markers, they shouldn’t be the only way we define our successes and failures. Before I had an essay published, I spent six months creating other work that I (and my workshop) ultimately rejected. So what? I had to make hundreds of pages of stuff in order to get arrive at a marriage between message and form. To consider these discarded works as failures is inaccurate; rather, they are a means to the goal. With each experiment, I ask myself:

• + What did I learn?
• + Is the feedback valid? (And, do I care?)
• + Has the message changed? If so, has the work evolved accordingly?

When you make something, you necessarily learn; this is the function of the student. The only way to fail at something is to not try it.

*Update: Incidentally, the Harvard Business Review published an article today on the Power of Positive Failure.

10. Rework the word No.
I get rejected a lot. Everyone does; we just don’t talk about it. Like when I didn’t make the high school volleyball team. Twice. (Their loss, I say.) When someone tells you No, it means that the pitch isn’t quite right. When I first asked the UA English Department if I could take a class, they said no. The first professor I asked said no. Then I sat in Ander’s office until he said yes (very uncomfortably). Then, when I applied to the writing program, the School of Art told me it was impossible to do both MFAs. Even after I’d been accepted. Come to think of it, the last word from the art administration was still no. But I’m not asking their permission anymore; I have the support of the faculty on both sides and I’ll do the work. Consider No a kind of game in which the challenge is to figure out how you can do what you want in spite of it.

11. Find the essence of things.
Most of the truths we arrive at are simple, are logical, are somehow inherent to our humanity. As such, I really believe that any concept should be explainable to a child. (Children are truth-tellers, after all.) when I get stuck on an idea, I ask myself, “What am I trying to say?” Then I imagine a conversation between my ten-year-old brother and me. Would he understand what I mean? Would it matter to him? Generally, when an idea feels complicated, it’s innacurate to [your individual, subjective] truth. When an idea is ready, though, it exits the mind easily.

12. Don’t be annoying.
Frequently, we seek the attention, advice or conversation of others as a means of avoiding our own work. I see it with both students and professionals. One common example is when students show up without sketches in the middle of a project saying they needed my approval first. No, you don’t. Show me something. Or, they’ll ask to be re-shown a technique before trying it themselves. These are unproductive interruptions rather than a venue for helpful conversation. Before interrupting someone (via email, in person or by phone) consider his or her perspective. She’s busy; does your question/comment warrant the engagement?

13. Be annoying.
By annoying, I mean persistent. This relates to Number 10. When you reach an idea that is absolutely right, and you’re certain of it, you need to be persistent in order to achieve it. Back to the example of pursuing concurrent degrees. When I mentioned the thought to my art professors, they encouraged me and I knew intuitively it was the right thing to do. Still, the process of entering into both programs has taken over a year and I’ve had to engage in dozens of conversations with faculty and administrators to cover my bases in terms of tuitions, appropriate coursework and scheduling. Whenever possible, I try to offset annoying-ness with drinks and the charm factor (see above links to mentors), but I’m nonetheless asking them for time, guidance and support. I’m fully invested and in order to be successful, the community needs to engage too. The process might be annoying, but return on investment is worth it for both sides.

14. Politely, respectfully, intelligently disagree.
To diverge from some sort of established norm, like a class assignment, is a completely valid approach. But the departure needs to be placed in some sort of context. And it needs to be smart. Let’s use the game-changing example of the recent Old Spice ad campaign. Wieden + Kennedy, the agency that developed the idea, could have simply revamped the image of Old Spice using a new visual identity or maybe creating an iPhone app (for smelling better?). Instead, they looked around at cultural trends and not only responded to them, but engaged with them. The campaign was interactive, existed in real time, utilized social media and was freaking hilarious. It was also incredibly intelligent. Has any campaign ever kept such a volume of users engaged, responsive and laughing for so long? How does this relate to class assignments? Well, an assignment is always the same: convince the audience. Break the boundaries of an assignment using available information; bonus points for making it funny.

15. Embrace the ugly.
The summer I worked in the Catskills, I had a few conversations with the painter, Thomas Locker. In discussing his work with me, he said, “The dream is always more beautiful than the reality.” Or, he was unable to translate his vision to the canvas. This disparity is a common issue among creatives and will hopefully lessen as a body of work is developed and techniques are honed. I would also suggest, though, that this space between the known concept and the known outcome (in other words, the unknown) is a beautiful place to work within. The beauty of a craft is the possibility of something unexpected. Explore the possibilities in the space of the unknown.